Drives on with horn and strife,
Hunger of hopeless things pursues
Our spirits throughout life.
The sea’s roar fills us aching full
Of objectless desire —
The sea’s roar, and the white moon-shine,
And the reddening of the fire.
Who talks to me of reason now?
It would be more delight
To have died in Cleopatra’s arms
Than be alive to-night.
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